


when i'm nothing but ego

by leeloo6



Series: seasons [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: D/s, M/M, Quadrant Confusion, fluff ending, mentions of mental health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leeloo6/pseuds/leeloo6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The way he brings you undone and utterly wrecks you is the best fix you’ve ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when i'm nothing but ego

You’re restless tonight, muscles burning with a tension you can’t swim out. Your mind is racing ten useless thoughts per second and at the same time it’s threateningly close to collapse onto itself and leave you braindead for the next perigee. You feel aimless, as if parts of you are spread out everywhere and it’s your idiot job to put them back together, except that you won’t, because you don’t feel particularly kind to yourself right now.

Who are you kidding. Of course you do; that’s why you’re indulging yourself in this, opening the door to his hive and almost running up the stairs to his respiteblock. You’re usually pissed with how many levels he had to build for himself, as if living on the eleventh floor would protect him from the rest of the world, but today you welcome the climb. It gives you something to focus on other than your dejection, stops you from thinking how bad you would kill something right now. 

You don’t know why. He doesn’t know either and he’s repeatedly assured you that he doesn’t give a fuck, but you would be a fool to believe him. He’s let you in his bed and subsequently in his mind, even though he wouldn’t admit it for the world. The way he brings you undone and utterly wrecks you is the best fix you’ve ever had.

He’s typing frantically when you come in, but only after you get closer do you see that he’s actually playing one of his stupid-ass games. You’ve tried to snap him out of it, get him out to FLARP with you, his psionics would be a great advantage for your team, but everytime he’s done nothing but flip you off. You can’t for the love of you understand how he prefers a dumb screen to live action, it’s really a waste of his potential.

Not that you can complain about _that_ , though, not when he’s pinning you down without even touching you, making you writhe, desperate for contact. Not when he’s got you so close to the end and he tips you over with one dizzying lash of electricity through your nook, making you shout out his name.

You lie down on the concupiscent platform that he’s alchemized for the two of you- it’s fuckin perverse, you told him, secretly pleased- and wait.

You can feel electricity coming from his general direction, buzzing quietly in the air, sending small shivers down your spine. It matches your restlessness in a way that’s almost too perfect to be true.

It’s the most intense when he’s like this, restless and confident in a way that lights up his eyes and makes his grin look disquietingly derranged. He’s high on himself in a way that you absolutely want to eat up and he’s merciless, he’s a hurricane lifting you up to the highest point and dropping you with equal force and you love it, you wouldn’t give it up for the world.

He’s not even looking at you, but you know how to play the waiting game. You sit on the floor right next to him, letting the static air wrap you up in a shell of pulsing heat, reveling in the sensation.

Five minutes and you already feel like climbing up the walls. Well, fuck.

`Sol,’ you start, ’I…’

He raises a finger without throwing a glance at you while he keeps sending commands with his other hand, eyes glued to the screen. You absolutely hate him and the way he always keeps his composure, you can swear he’s doing it on purpose.

`Do I look like I give a fuck on anything you have to say right now,’ he says, voice low and a bit hoarse. You wonder how long it’s since he last slept. You wonder how long since the last time he actually _talked_ to someone. `Or ever, for that matter.’

`Yeah, sorry to say, you kinda do,’ you answer. You walk to the other end of the room and grin at him while you unplug his computer, smashing a few nearby bees for effect. You know that’s what gets him really bad, it doesn’t take much to replace them, but it fucks up his network. Plus, he seems to actually _care_ about them. Go figure.

You find yourself smashed to the wall in the next second, gasping for air. You feel your whole body ache with the aftershock, adrenaline lighting up your synapses, making you feel utterly alive.

_Finally._

`You fucker,’ he groans, splaying a hand across your chest, digging his nails deep enough to draw blood. You can feel the energy radiating off his skin onto yours, amplified by his anger and pouring into your own. `You’re never touching them again, you understand?’ 

`Yeah, okay,’ you breathe. `If you can make me.’

He bares his teeth then, his expression of scorn melting in that grin that says he’s always up for the challenge. It goes straight between your legs, making you buzz with anticipation and you’re suddenly very aware of his breath on your face, his hand keeping you from moving, his scent in your nostrils, heavy, almost-bitter and so familiar. You want each and every part of him, you want him to overwhelm you until he leaves you no space to think and feel and ache.

He strips you off with a few sharp bites of his psionics, leaving purple marks on your chest, stomach, thighs, making you moan at the shallow pain of it, almost as much as you need to keep you in balance. He looks down at you and you meet his stare back with defiance and a devious smirk of your own, silently urging him to go on.

He grabs your hair and kisses you then, all sharp teeth and determination, forcing your mouth open and tongue-fucking you until you’re rutting against him in a needy haze. He’s sending waves of electricity through your entire body now, higher voltages until your skin prickles and your brain is overloaded, desperate for any kind of release. Your bulge is unsheated, curling between the two of you as he keeps his distance, only touching you where your mouths meet. 

He sinks one fang into the corner of your lower lip, nibbling at it, and you whine and arch up into him, desperate, but he has a hand possessively curled around the nape of your neck and he’s keeping you away, eyes glimmering with mischief. He brushes his index on the corner of your lip and licks the gathered dark violet off of it, holding your gaze and oh, god, that’s really hot.

`Bed,’ he commands on a steady voice and you just love it when he pushes himself like this, fighting to be in control until the end, because you can feel his bulge through his pants and you can see the yellow tint to his cheeks, indisputable proof that he’s alive and as wanting as you are, but he’s still playing you and you don’t want him to stop, ever.

You lie down, using your elbows for leverage and watching him take his shirt off. You make a mental note to rip it off with your teeth the next time you two meet like this. He crawls on you, still half-dressed, still sending ripples of electricity through your body, only that now he’s focusing on your lower regions and you grab at the sheets so you keep from mindlessly bucking up into him. He’s nibbling at your chest, biting enough to sting but barely enough to offer relief while his psionics are playing you like an instrument, hitting every chord right but not hard enough, hardly sufficient. 

‘Sol,’ you murmur, bringing him up to you and kissing him slowly, hands in his hair- he likes that, you know he does. It almost feels like a parody, because you’re dripping and ready and you just want him inside you right now, but this could work, this could convince him. 

But when he looks at you, he doesn’t seem a bit as dazed as you feel. You groan and his smirk only widens.

`Yeah? Want something?’

He pins your hands above your head right in the second when you go for his pants.

`Uh-huh,’ he shakes his head. `Ask nicely.’ There’s that spark in his eyes and his body warm over yours and this whole situation makes you feel ridiculously safe. You trust him completely. You shouldn’t; he’s mad and definitely fucked in the head, but you do and it makes you feel like you’re cradled when he’s draped over you like this, like there is nothing in the world beside him that is allowed to hurt you, and that feels good. It feels amazing.

`C’mon, touch me,’ you say, bucking up into him. He almost gasps at that, gone for the shortest of a second and you hang on to that, you want to see more of him. `Pleasepleaseplease, I can’t take it anymore,’ you plead, pulling him closer.

He electrocutes you from the inside of your nook to the tip of your bulge in one hard rush and you scream, scratching the nape of his neck hard enough to draw blood. It burns through you and leaves you sore and trembling, clutching at him, panting harshly. You feel heightened, hyperaware and you don’t know what else to do than bury your face in his shoulder when he ruts his hips against yours, whining at the painful friction that the denim of his jeans create in contact with your sensitive bulge.

`Yeah, that’s it,’ he murmurs in your ear, `c’mon,’ and oh god he’s nibbling at your fins and somewhere beneath the sharp ache and terminal pleasure of it, you think that you might actually die of how much you adore him. You want to move your arms and touch him, make him feel good, but all you can do is meet his thrusts with equal determination despite the pain, or maybe because of it.

He leaves off you abruptly and only now do you feel as much naked as you really are, when he’s not here to cover you. He slips out of his jeans and underwear in a few seconds and yeah, he’s as wet as you are, dark yellow on the inside of his thighs. You want to lick it off him, you want to wrap yourself around him until your contour fades away. You want him so badly.

He sits at the opposite side of the bed and you practically crawl in his lap.

He’s holding your gaze while he slips two fingers in your nook and you whine, biting your lip- the contact lights you up, makes you feel like you’re comfortable in your skin again. He keeps it quick and dirty, pistoning his fingers inside you, crooking them on the way out. It burns in the most delightful way.

`Like that?’ he asks, leaning his forehead against yours. You can feel beads of sweat forming on his temples, his breath on your lips, his eyes piercing yours. You feel exposed, stripped down.

`Mh-mm,’ you sing, your hands turning into fists in his hair. You hold on to him like the world would spiral into self-destruction if you let him go. He’s the only thing that keeps you from turning into a black hole, the ground beneath your feet keeping you steady. He’s your lifeline.

He pulls his fingers out and pulls you down, sliding into you in one fluid motion. You’re so wet that the slide is frictionless; he stretches you out and fills you up and you can’t hold back a small sigh of relief, resting your head on his shoulder. He chuckles at that and you feel giddy all over.

`You’re fucking ridiculous, do you know that,’ he says, coiling inside you with torturing slowness.

`You,’ you reply, `are absurd.’ He actually laughs at that, or maybe it’s your accent that makes him- he’s always telling you how _preposterous_ it sounds, only that now his remark sounded adoring rather than an insult is the thing.

He brings your hands at your back, tied by invisible forces, so that the only way you can keep your balance when he starts pushing up into you is to lean forward, using him as leverage. You nuzzle his neck and then bite down sharply, earning a gasp and a moan- god, how you love his voice. You would sit and listen to him talk for hours, lisp or not, you’d let him carry you from exhaustion to death’s dream kingdom, sing you to your blood-shrouded sleep. You kiss him everywhere you can, neck, chin, his stupid face, and he’s doing nothing to stop you. You could burst with how much you’re feeling right now.

You kiss him and he welcomes you wide, his tongue matching the rhythm of his bulge inside you, slow and deep and langorous. You add teeth to it before you start freaking out about what quadrant you’re currently in and he catches on, sending an electric wave from his bulge straight to your nook. It’s less rough than before, but it still burns and you moan in his mouth, in tandem with his own voice breaking. Your spine melts and you lean into him as he thrusts up harder, lashing out and coiling inside you and it’s driving you insane, he’s bringing you down to a mess, spineless and sublime.

`That’s good, isn’t it?’ he croons into your neck. `I could fuck you like this for hours, until you’re sore and exhausted and sensitive all over, _then_ I would let you come and it’d be the best fucking thing that ever happened in your miserable little life.’

He punctuates every word from that last sentence with a thrust and you whine into his shoulder helplessly. 

`Fuck, Sol, _please_ -‘

`Yes?’ 

`Just… don’t stop talking,’ you say and he snickers at that, but it’s breathless and half-hearted and he doesn’t stop, whispering in your ear as if he’s revealing something precious and hidden, like the secrets of the stars or love, and you drink it in like it’s the air you’re breathing, dissolving into him as if he’s your ether.

He’s sending another wave through you and you fall apart.

`You really like this, don’t you, you’re eating this up-‘

`You,’ you pant harshly. `Eating _you_ up.’

`Well, we’ll see about that,’ he says with a smirk, feeding you faster waves until you can’t think anymore, shaking you whole. Every circuitry in your brain has been reduced to jelly, replaced with sparks of pleasure ready to burst, turning you stupid and blind to everything but this, _him_. 

He frees your hands and you grab at him, hanging on, and then he’s touching your bulge and you go over the edge in one glorious second, riding it out with short spasms as you’re digging your claws in his shoulders, spilling over him. You think you must’ve shouted at some point, but it’s all too hazy to point out. 

He’s getting close, lashing out wildly inside you, making these unearthly noises- you love seeing him come apart, composure tearing off at the edges, smudged with a wilderness that suits him oh so well. You’re sensitive with the aftershock and it hurts, makes you want to pull away, but you grit your teeth and hold him close, riding him out.

`C’mon, you’re almost there,’ you say and he comes with a loud groan, clutching at your back, trembling. He’s spilling inside you and it’s filling you up in a way you had no idea felt so good, because this is him inside you and you never ever want him to leave.

He collapses on the bed and you just lie on top of him, making an unhappy noise when he slips out of you. You already feel the soreness, it’s gonna stay with you for days. You love it.

`Why are you still here,’ he moans after a while, waking you up from your exhausted half-consciousness. `What the fuck are you using me as a bed for.’

`Sleeping,’ you answer, feeling boneless and blissful and so alive.

`No fucking way,’ he says, stretching out beneath you. You grin and try not to nuzzle in too close to him- you’re not red for him or anything, you don’t want to give off the wrong vibe.

Though, fuck, you already have. A whole ton of it. 

`Sol,’ you nudge him. `Have to talk to you.’

`No, I am not up to hearing any of your pathetic excuses for being a terrible kismesis,’ he sighs in annoyance. `I already know you are. You are the most terrible.’

`Fuck you too,’ you murmur, biting lazily at his neck. You’re smiling.

You know you’re right, though; you’re supposed to fight back, give him a proper challenge, not lie back and let him do all the work. It’s not always like this. But sometimes, it’s exactly what you need and you’re glad that he cares little enough for convention that he’s indulging you, dancing along.

Hell, he’s more than indulging you. He’s _loving_ it.

`Now would be the time for you to roll the fuck over and let me go back to work,’ he says, tracing lazy circles on your back.

`Ha, work,’ you huff. `Good joke, you useless piece a gaming addict.’

He pinches your ass at that and, to your surprise, actually rolls you over and gets up.

Oh, right. You forgot about the manic thing, you bet he has enough energy to go fight a war right now and still have it in him to fuck you senseless when he returns. 

You know this all will build up to an ugly depressive episode and it’s going to be a pain in the ass to deal with him then, but right now you just flip him off- he grins at that, not bothering to reciprocate and you are so, so stupid for him- and crawl to his recuperacoon, hazy with tiredness, just briefly aware of him typing away in the background. You fall asleep in a few seconds in, warm and oblivious, and blissfully dream of nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Mercy from IAMX is a perfect song that goes nicely with what I've been trying to do here, even though I'm sure I haven't done it enough justice.


End file.
